


Enough

by AsakaSama



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2014-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-15 09:24:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1299901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsakaSama/pseuds/AsakaSama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock finally pushes John too far.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enough

Sherlock sat on the sofa in the early morning light, hands pressed together in his favored thinking position and listened to John gasp awake after another nightmare. He carefully added it to the mental tally he was keeping on the frequency and severity of John's nightly interruptions. 

This made the second for tonight, the fifth this week, and the twenty-seventh this month, a clear enough sign that Baskerville had significantly impacted John's sleep cycles. 

More than John's rest was being disturbed, however, in the five weeks that the Baskerville case had been closed. John still refused to accept any food or drink Sherlock made for him, wouldn't go near food that had been near anything Sherlock bought, and handled with extreme caution things Sherlock handed to him. Exhaustion had crept into John's cracks, making him stroppy, pensive, and muzzy. The status quo of Sherlock being brilliant with John beside him being encouraging had died a spectacular death. No matter how sharp his wit or dazzling his deductions, he received only a nod and lackluster smile or the occasional "Great work," if Lestrade was watching. This change in behavior was obviously the result of drugging John at Baskerville, despite the fact that it had been quite necessary to solving the case. John disagreed, it seemed.

Sherlock's feeling of trepidation has been growing with each day that John grew more impatient with him, less impressed by him, and the unceasing suspicion of him. It had taken only a day to decide not to experiment on John again. His usual act of playing the violin at night to soothe John back to sleep was doing nothing in the face of his nightmares, and the apology cup of tea he had left for John three days after Baskerville had only resulted in a row that upset Mrs. Hudson and soon grew stone cold and untouched. He had noticed that John's laptop history included flat searches. This did not bode well. He needed something that would solidify John's presence in 221B; something that would mitigate his lapse and remove the suspicion from John's eyes and the reservation from the line of his spine.

John came down the stairs, rubbing his eyes, shoulders slumped with exhaustion. When he saw Sherlock poised on the couch he stopped short, startled, then continued on into the kitchen. There was the sound of rummaging indicated that John was removing sliced of bread to make toast. The sound of the furthermost cupboard opening let Sherlock deduce that John was making coffee instead of tea, until there was a sudden halt of noise.

"Sherlock? The coffee grounds have been moved." John said from the kitchen.

Ah, yes, Sherlock had conducted an experiment that necessitated the strips of leather he kept behind the coffee tin. No doubt John, in his newly suspicious mind set, believes that Sherlock has done something untoward to the coffee. He has been very careful lately not to use food items John likes in his experiments (Dull!), but John hasn't noticed. 

"I have done nothing to the coffee, John. You are quite safe," calls Sherlock.

"Hah!" John muttered under his breath. It's unclear whether Sherlock was meant to hear this expression of disbelief. John looks longingly at the coffee, sighs, and heads toward the kettle to make tea. Sherlock feels irritation spike in him. "If coffee is what you want John, have the coffee! It is untainted! Shall I taste it to prove it?"

John shakes his head as he flips the kettle on and says wearily, "Do you honestly expect me to believe that you couldn't come up with something that would affect me, but not you?"

John has a point. Sherlock switches tactics "If I say the coffee is safe, then the coffee is safe, John. I do not lie."

John's harsh bark of laughter nearly startles him, as does the sudden aggressive way he whirls and stalks into the living room. It is clear be his body language and expression that he has reached his limit and is ready to vent his spleen. Sherlock sits up attentively, eager to explain to John how he is an idiot and hopefully restore the status quo. Once John has thrown his wobbly things will surely return to the way they should be.

"You don't lie, really? You lie all the time, you arse! You lie to clients, you lie to Lestrade, you lie to everyone! You lied to me all the time-"

"I have never lied to you," Sherlock says, steely eyed, firmly avoiding the other accusations, "simply because you are mislead does not mean I have lied."

"Lies of omission are a lie! Manipulations are a lie! You are banking on bloody semantics and that's just not on Sherlock! Do you know what a fucked up thing that was to do to a soldier with PTSD Sherlock?" And here we come to the heart of the matter, thought Sherlock. "I can barely eat, I can barely sleep, I go through my days like a bloody zombie after dreaming of dogs ripping apart the people I couldn't save and I-I just..."

John deflated. Sherlock blinked, unnerved by the aggression seeping out of John's body leaving him looking small and sad in the pale morning light, barefoot and vulnerable in his faded pajamas. "I just can't, Sherlock. You're not even sorry. You would do it again."

Sherlock shook his head, the nagging trepidation filling his throat until he can't speak, can't find the words to say he already decided not to use hallucinogens on John anymore in a way that wouldn't make things worse.

John raised his head and said quietly "I think it's time I moved out, Sherlock. I still want to come on cases and be your friend, but I can't live with you anymore. I've never known why you needed a flatmate, really, you seem to have plenty of money. You'll be fine without me, I'm sure."

Sherlock shook his head violently, "Do not leave, John." Please, he doesn't say. I'm sorry, he doesn't say. 

Johns left hand trembles. "It's time for me to leave your flat, Sherlock. I'll pack and be gone in a day or two. I need...space."

The kettle whistles. John makes tea.


End file.
